The Day My Dog Jumped Into The Sea

This is a tribute to my late dog, Wags 2003-2022, R.I.P Beautiful Boy.

In 2008 I adopted Wags from the Dog's home. He was a "replacement" for my chihuahua Zeke, who I had lost suddenly to a hit-and-run driver on the gravel road where I resided. His loss had devastated me; my grief was raw and time wasn't healing my loss.

I spotted Wags' picture on the website of a local dog rescue. He looked very similar to Zeke. I was selfish; the intent wasn't to rescue a dog that desperately needed a home, it was to fill the dreadful void in my heart.

I jumped at the chance to adopt him. He was a beautiful long-haired pomeranian x chihuahua around 4 years of age. He'd been ignored and left 24/7 in the cold backyard of someone with other dogs and he'd had to fight for his food. That's all they knew about him. I scanned his information sheet quickly as I patted his silky golden-tan coat.

Was he good with children? Unsure. Was he good with cats? Unsure. Was he good with other dogs? Yes.

I had a 12-month-old daughter and a cat and my partner had a labrador x called Boags.

But he looked like my Zeke and that was enough. The rest I'd work out along the way, I told myself.

My partner and my daughter grew to love Wags quickly and easily. He was great with my daughter, and would quickly skip up onto the couch if her sticky baby hands clung to his hair too tightly. He never bit or lashed out. His past had however created a nervous little dog but soon we were able to watch him come out of his shell and live up to his name.

Wags' beautiful bushy, full tail would swing back and forth as he trotted around the house and our rural property. He hated the cold and loved being an inside dog, lying near the fireplace in our living room. He adored Boags and would sleep curled up next to him. Even our cat tolerated him.

Wags was beautiful, but it was Zeke that I saw when I looked at him.

Wags went everywhere with me, just as Zeke had. He loved going for car trips and down to the beach on the east coast where my parents lived. When my partner and I broke up, he was a constant comfort for me through the emotional storm that surged and brewed.

When the separation was finalised, my daughter, Wags and I moved close to my parent's seaside town and rented a little place of our own.

It's 2009 on a crisp, beautiful but stunningly cold day in Winter. The heater in my car is blasting as I pull my car over, and my friend and I decide on takeaway fish and chips at the wharf. My daughter and Wags are happily sitting in the back seat. The restaurant is a little boat, docked to the wharf and being a weekend, the place is full of people enjoying their meals on a clear day after many days of rain. The wharf winds out for hundred of metres, further and further into the cold, dark ocean. I begin to unbuckle my daughter from her car seat. Wags trots off to immerse himself in the rich smells of the wharf and the scent of fish. He is a good boy- he won't stray far.

Suddenly my friend screams. "He jumped!"

I am startled and annoyed- not able to comprehend what she could possibly be talking about. Who jumped? From what? I look around. Where is Wags? I call his name urgently. My friend has turned a ghastly shade of white.

"What?! Where's Wags?" I demand. She stutters and points. I want to shake her and retrieve the relevant information that she is having trouble getting out.

"Where is he?" I shout harshly.

"In the water!"

The words fill me with dread. My brain struggles to understand. It isn't possible. It's easily a 20-30 foot drop off the concreted sides of the wharf.

"Take the baby!" I yell at my friend and pass over my daughter.

I rush to the side of the wharf and stare down into the freezing depths of the sea. There's nothing there. I'm screaming and yelling at no one in particular and I interrupt the diners on the floating restaurant.

"Can you see my dog? He fell!"

An old man begins to stand up in an excruciatingly slow manner and I don't have time for that. I pull off my boots and tear my jacket over my head and throw it to the ground. Every moment that passes is too long. Is he still alive? Did he survive the fall? Why can't I see him?

"There he is!" Shouts the old man who has finally risen from his chair and looked out the window, "He's holding onto the rocks underneath the wharf!"

He is alive, I think, nothing else matters.

I begin to climb down a ladder that only goes half way down the side of the wharf. I get to the bottom rung and I spot him. A tiny orange dog clutching onto the barnacles on the rocks. I call him but fear has him frozen, he will not come to me.

My friend calls me to come back up but as frightened as I am of the ocean and what lurks beneath the surface, it is not an option. I let go of the ladder and plunge into the icy waters- the shock of the cold hits me like a ton of bricks. I am a terrible swimmer and my jeans are weighing me down. I make my way over to Wags, praying that he will not slip underneath the water. His claws are clinging tightly to the sharp barnacles and he's using every ounce of strength to hold on.

I finally reach him and grab hold of him. I immediately regret washing him the day before and not replacing his collar. I struggle to keep myself afloat and I reach out to the rocks, slicing my hands on the barnacles. I curse and grab Wags by the scruff of his neck, there's no time for careful consideration or softly spoken words, because now I am sinking too. As I push him upwards so his head is above water, mine sinks. I am awkwardly swimming with one hand and we aren't doing well. We take turns having our head above the water while the other half-drowns.

Finally my flailing legs strike rocks and razor sharp barnacles slice me, sending trails of blood through the water. I wish I hadn't watched Jaws recently. This is my worst nightmare.

We climb the rocks and my jeans and feet are sliced. I didn't know barnacles could cause such damage. Wags' tiny pads are ripped to shreds but he is alive and we are back on dry land. I grip him tightly, crying and gasping in relief. We are both violently shaking.

Back at the house, I take Wags and we sit in the steaming hot shower. We stink of seaweed and near death experience.

I stare deep into his eyes. I don't see Zeke anymore, I see my boy Wags, brave and resilient, his soulful eyes are speaking to me. The loyalty and love is as obvious as the blood trickling from our wounds down into the shower drain. My boy.

I almost lost him and I will never take him for granted again.

Wags and I stuck by each other's sides for the next thirteen years, moving interstate with my daughter, my sister and her dog Gus who Wags adored. We went from rental to rental, hiding him when pets weren't allowed. Nothing was going to take my Wags away from me. Finally we bought a large property and we settled into a peaceful life.

Wags comforted me during the hard times in my life, and I loved him fiercely. I mourned and accepted the loss of Zeke, and then many more dogs as I became involved in rescue and foster care. Wags was a constant in my life, and when I became sick, he was there for me. His coat was often damp with my tears as I held him and cried my heart out.

Our bond was unbreakable and I cared for him as he aged, became blind, deaf and finally unwell. By the time it turned into palliative care, I'd bought a cot mattress and put it on the floor so we could enjoy sleeping next to each other like we did when he was younger and could jump up onto the bed safely.

I prayed that he would pass peacefully, because if any little soul deserved it, he did. He became anxious and began to cry at night. I tried medication for him but I knew it was time. I didn't want to let him go; he was ready but I wasn't.

I'd been sick for 2 years with a chronic illness and I didn't want to lose my boy as I'd already lost so much. I didn't think my heart could cope with any more heartbreak. But I owed it to him; I would not let him suffer.

It's May of 2022, and I've booked Wags into our beautiful, kind vet for his final appointment. I call the high school and pick up my daughter, who is now 14.

My sister drives us through McDonald's and we order a cheeseburger and fries for Wags, plus a soft serve for his final meal. We are silent as we drive to the vets. Our hearts are heavy with pain.

After Wags enthusiastically enjoys his meal we sit in the back of my sister's car and my daughter, my sister and my niece take turns saying goodbye to the little man they've known almost their entire lives.

I hold him; I don't want to let him go. With the help of our vet, he passes peacefully in my arms. I look into his eyes and hold my hand over his heart as it stops beating, and for a moment it feels as if we are one.

R.I.P my handsome little boy Wags, you were one of a kind and you will always be in my heart. Thank you for making me a kinder and stronger person.